"Now, I wonder who the deuce that could havebeen." I slept at Baker Street that night, and we were engaged uponour toast and coffee in the morning when the King of Bohemiarushed into the room.
"You have really got it!" he cried, grasping Sherlock Holmesby either shoulder and looking eagerly into his face.
"Not yet." "But you have hopes?" "I have hopes." "Then, come.
I am all impatience to be gone." "We must have a cab." "No, my brougham is waiting." "Then that will simplify matters." We descended and startedoff once more for Briony Lodge.
"Irene Adler is married," remarked Holmes.
"Married! When?" "Yesterday." "But to whom?" "To an English lawyer named Norton." "But she could not love him." "I am in hopes that she does." "And why in hopes?" "Because it would spare your Majesty all fear of future an-noyance.
If the lady loves her husband, she does not love yourMajesty.
If she does not love your Majesty, there is no reasonwhy she should interfere with your Majesty's plan." "It is true.
And yet Well! I wish she had been of my ownstation! What a queen she would have made!" He relapsed into amoody silence, which was not broken until we drew up inSerpentine Avenue.
The door of Briony Lodge was open, and an elderly womanstood upon the steps.
She watched us with a sardonic eye as westepped from the brougham.
"Mr.
Sherlock Holmes, I believe?" said she.
"I am Mr.
Holmes," answered my companion, looking at herwith a questioning and rather startled gaze.
"Indeed! My mistress told me that you were likely to call.
Sheleft this morning with her husband by the 5:15 train from Char-ing Cross for the Continent." "What!" Sherlock Holmes staggered back, white with chagrinand surprise.
"Do you mean that she has left England?" "Never to return." "And the papers?" asked the King hoarsely.
"All is lost." "We shall see." He pushed past the servant and rushed intothe drawing-room, followed by the King and myself.
The furni-ture was scattered about in every direction, with dismantledshelves and open drawers, as if the lady had hurriedly ransackedthem before her flight.
Holmes rushed at the bell-pull, tore backa small sliding shutter, and, plunging in his hand, pulled out aphotograph and a letter.
The photograph was of Irene Adlerherself in evening dress, the letter was superscribed to "SherlockHolmes, Esq.
To be left till called for." My friend tore it openand we all three read it together.
It was dated at midnight of thepreceding night and ran in this way: MY DEAR MR.
SHERLOCK HOLMES: You really did it very well.
You took me in completely.
Until after the alarm of fire, I had not a suspicion.
But then, when I found how I had betrayed myself, I began to think.
I had been warned against you months ago.
I had been told that if the King employed an agent it would certainly be you.
And your address had been given me.
Yet, with all this, you made me reveal what you wanted to know.
Even after I became suspicious, I found it hard to think evil of such a dear, kind old clergyman.
But, you know, I have been trained as an actress myself.
Male costume is nothing new to me.
I often take advantage of the freedom which it gives.
I sent John, the coachman, to watch you, ran up-stairs, got into my walking-clothes, as I call them, and came down just as you departed.
Well, I followed you to your door, and so made sure that I was really an object of interest to the celebrated Mr.
Sherlock Holmes.
Then I, rather imprudently, wished you good-night, and started for the Temple to see my husband.
We both thought the best resource was flight, when pursued by so formidable an antagonist; so you will find the nest empty when you call to-morrow.
As to the photograph, your client may rest in peace.
I love and am loved by a better man than he.
The King may do what he will without hindrance from one whom he has cruelly wronged.
I keep it only to safeguard myself, and to preserve a weapon which will always secure me from any steps which he might take in the future.
I leave a photograph which he might care to possess; and I remain, dear Mr.
Sherlock Holmes, Very truly yours, Irene Norton, nee ADLER.
"What a woman --oh, what a woman!" cried the King ofBohemia, when we had all three read this epistle.
"Did I not tellyou how quick and resolute she was? Would she not have madean admirable queen? Is it not a pity that she was not on mylevel?" "From what I have seen of the lady she seems indeed to be ona very different level to your Majesty," said Holmes coldly.
"Iam sorry that I have not been able to bring your Majesty'sbusiness to a more successful conclusion." "On the contrary, my dear sir," cried the King; "nothingcould be more successful.
I know that her word is inviolate.
Thephotograph is now as safe as if it were in the fire." "I am glad to hear your Majesty say so." "I am immensely indebted to you.
Pray tell me in what way Ican reward you.
This ring " He slipped an emerald snake ringfrom his finger and held it out upon the palm of his hand.
"Your Majesty has something which I should value even morehighly,'' said Holmes.
''You have but to name it." ''This photograph!'' The King stared at him in amazement.
"Irene's photogMph!" he cried.
"Certainly, if you wish it.'' "I thank your Majesty.
Then there is no more to be done inthe matter.
I have the honour to wish you a very good-morning."He bowed, and, turning away without observing the hand whichthe King had stretched out to him, he set off in my company forhis chambers.
And that was how a great scandal threatened to affect thekingdom of Bohemia, and how the best plans of Mr.
SherlockHolmes were beaten by a woman's wit.
He used to make merryover the cleverness of women, but I have not heard him do it oflate.
And when he speaks of Irene Adler, or when he refers toher photograph, it is always under the honourable title of thewoman.
The Red-headed League I had called upon my friend, Mr.
Sherlock Holmes, one day inthe autumn of last year and found him in deep conversation witha very stout, florid-faced, elderly gentleman with fiery red hair.With an apology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw whenHolmes pulled me abruptly into the room and closed the doorbehind me.
"You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dearWatson," he said cordially.
"I was afraid that you were engaged." "So I am.
Very much so." "Then I can wait in the next room." "Not at all.
This gentleman, Mr.
Wilson, has been my partnerand helper in many of my most successful cases, and I have nodoubt that he will be of the utmost use to me in yours also." The stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob ofgreeting, with a quick little questioning glance from his smallfat-encircled eyes.
"Try the settee," said Holmes, relapsing into his armchairand putting his fingertips together, as was his custom when injudicial moods.
"I know, my dear Watson, that you share mylove of all that is bizarre and outside the conventions andhumdrum routine of everyday life.
You have shown your relishfor it by the enthusiasm which has prompted you to chronicle,and, if you will excuse my saying so, somewhat to embellish somany of my own little adventures." "Your cases have indeed been of the greatest interest to me,"I observed.
"You will remember that I remarked the other day, just beforewe went into the very simple problem presented by Miss MarySutherland, that for strange effects and extraordinary combina-tions we must go to life itself, which is always far more daringthan any effort of the imagination." "A proposition which I took the liberty of doubting." "You did, Doctor, but none the less you must come round tomy view, for otherwise I shall keep on piling fact upon fact onyou until your reason breaks down under them and acknowledgesme to be right.
Now, Mr.
Jabez Wilson here has been goodenough to call upon me this morning, and to begin a narrativewhich promises to be one of the most singular which I havelistened to for some time.
You have heard me remark that thestrangest and most unique things are very often connected notwith the larger but with the smaller crimes, and occasionally,indeed, where there is room for doubt whether any positivecrime has been committed.
As far as I have heard it is impossiblefor me to say whether the present case is an instance of crime ornot, but the course of events is certainly among the most singularthat I have ever listened to.
Perhaps, Mr.
Wilson, you wouldhave the great kindness to recommence your narrative.
I ask younot merely because my friend Dr.
Watson has not heard theopening part but also because the peculiar nature of the storymakes me anxious to have every possible detail from your lips.As a rule, when I have heard some slight indication of the courseof events, I am able to guide myself by the thousands of othersimilar cases which occur to my memory.
In the present instanceI am forced to admit that the facts are, to the best of my belief,unique." The portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance ofsome little pride and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper fromthe inside pocket of his greatcoat.
As he glanced down theadvertisement column, with his head thrust forward and thepaper flattened out upon his knee, I took a good look at the manand endeavoured, after the fashion of my companion, to read theindications which might be presented by his dress or appearance.
I did not gain very much, however, by my inspection.
Ourvisitor bore every mark of being an average commonplace Brit-ish tradesman, obese, pompous, and slow.
He wore rather baggygray shepherd's check trousers, a not over-clean black frock-coat, unbuttoned in the front, and a drab waistcoat with a heavybrassy Albert chain, and a square pierced bit of metal danglingdown as an ornament.
A frayed top-hat and a faded brownovercoat with a wrinkled velvet collar lay upon a chair besidehim.
Altogether, look as I would, there was nothing remarkableabout the man save his blazing red head, and the expression ofextreme chagrin and discontent upon his features.
Sherlock Holmes's quick eye took in my occupation, and heshook his head with a smile as he noticed my questioningglances.
"Beyond the obvious facts that he has at some timedone manual labour, that he takes snuff, that he is a Freemason.that he has been in China, and that he has done a considerableamount of writing lately, I can deduce nothing else." Mr.
Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefingerupon the paper, but his eyes upon my companion.
"How, in the name of good-fortune, did you know all that,Mr.
Holmes?" he asked.
"How did you know, for example, thatI did manual labour? It's as true as gospel, for I began as a ship'scarpenter." "Your hands, my dear sir.
Your right hand is quite a sizelarger than your left.
You have worked with it, and the musclesare more developed." "Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?" "I won't insult your intelligence by telling you how I readthat, especially as, rather against the strict rules of your order,you use an arc-and-compass breastpin." "Ah, of course, I forgot that.
But the writing?" "What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shinyfor five inches, and the left one with the smooth patch near theelbow where you rest it upon the desk?" "Well, but China?" "The fish that you have tattooed immediately above your rightwrist could only have been done in China.
I have made a smallstudy of tattoo marks and have even contributed to the literatureof the subject.
That trick of staining the fishes' scales of adelicate pink is quite peculiar to China.
When, in addition, I seea Chinese coin hanging from your watch-chain, the matter be-comes even more simple." Mr.
Jabez Wilson laughed heavily.
"Well, I never!" said he."I thought at first that you had done something clever, but I seethat there was nothing in it, after all." "I begin to think, Watson," said Holmes, "that I make amistake in explaining.
'Omne ignotum pro magnifico,' you know,and my poor little reputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreckif I am so candid.
Can you not find the advertisement, Mr.Wilson?" "Yes, I have got it now," he answered with his thick redfinger planted halfway down the column.
"Here it is.
This iswhat began it all.
You just read it for yourself, sir." I took the paper from him and read as follows.
TO THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE: On account of the bequest of the late Ezekiah Hopkins, of Lebanon, Pennsylvania, U.
S.
A., there is now another vacancy open which entitles a member of the League to a salary of 4 pounds a week for purely nominal services.
All red-headed men who are sound in body and mind and above the age of twenty-one years, are eligible.
Appiy in person on Monday, at eleven o'clock, to Duncan Ross, at the offices of the League, 7 Pope's Coun, Fleet Street.
"What on earth does this mean?" I ejaculated after I hadtwice read over the extraordinary announcement.
Holmes chuckled and wriggled in his chair, as was his habitwhen in high spirits.
"It is a little off the beaten track, isn't it?"said he.
"And now, Mr.
Wilson, off you go at scratch and tellus all about yourself, your household, and the effect which thisadvertisement had upon your fortunes.
You will first make anote, Doctor, of the paper and the date." "It is The Morning Chronicle of April 27, 1890.
